Ever since Abigail did away with her sleeping bag she's had to sleep on the floor. She tried to sync up the times she'd shuffle, half-awake, to the bathroom with the times she'd then shuffle out into the cold, blue expanse of night and light it up with purple. She was pretty sure her name was starting to stick out amongst the staff...as of yet, nobody else seemed to have as much trouble as she did with containment of her magic. She had burnt holes through the metal trash can but it was better than great jets of violet flame pouring out into the sky like a big, obvious, magical flare for nosy neighbours or overzealous FOE agents trying to scoop up the stragglers. Every time she used that spell, it hurt. Her palms blistered, went red and shiny. It woke her up every time, and then left her hungry as her skin peeled and shed off to reveal healthier, pinker flesh underneath - all in the span of fifteen or so minutes.

Did Abigail have a right to complain? Absolutely not. As far as she could tell, she was one of the lucky ones. Nobody had died - nobody important, at least - and she didn't kill anyone when she awakened. Did she desperately want to? Yes, but not here, and not to anyone she knew. Homesickness was a coming and going urge that she was surprised hadn't been so prominent in her mind, perhaps because of how definitively her old life ended. She wanted things to be the way they used to be - just like everybody else in this crumbling ruin. Goodnight felt like a liminal space, a place of stasis. It was the biggest bus stop she could possibly imagine, or perhaps a train station (though she'd never used a train before). It felt like people were waiting to move on. "Am I in purgatory?" she asked the singed trash can with its nasty old garbage fumes mixing with the mists of dawn, and got an odd look from one of the guards. That made her indignant. She turned to stare him down and raised her voice. "Well?" she barked. "Am I?"

"Nah, you ain't," grunted the man, pulling his scarf up a bit higher to keep out the chill.

"Just checking."

Abigail stank to high heaven thanks to teenage BO and a lack of deodorant. She wasn't wearing any of her old clothes except for the ruined baseball cap. They were secondhand and musty and suited her just fine, even if a lot of them were too big. She wandered around the sparse tiled halls of Goodnight trying to find something to do. The arcade kids didn't want much to do with her after she melted one of the joysticks. She couldn't tell which of the adults were helpers, survivors, sane or bonkers. A lot of the ones her age were all over the place, as if it were their first time away from home or something. Usually, an opportunity to kill time presented itself. This time, it presented itself in the form of one lady in an alcove stretching.

Abigail watched her for a bit. She was really pretty with the morning light coming in from the windows, a bit like an angel. And she didn't look all sad and worried like everyone else. She looked up and down the corridor and then loitered her way over to the stranger, rubbing her forearm awkwardly. "Whatcha doing?" she asked.